Bacon: “What’s that?”
Samoan Joes bartender: “It’s a cocktail. You asked for a cocktail.”
Bacon: “No- I asked you to give me a refreshing drink. I wasn’t expecting a rainforest. You could fall in love with an orangutan in that!”
bartender: “You want a pint, go to the pub.”
Bacon: “I thought this was a pub?”
bartender: “It’s a Samoan pub.”
- from Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.
An Englishman, an American and a German walk into a Samoan Pub.
There are at least three Samoans behind the bar and another couple near the door- someone is snoring softly, but it’s difficult to tell who as no-one moves. The service is almost non existent, but it soon becomes clear there’s no beer and the alternatives all smell of coconut…but at least the pool table has been unlocked and it’s free to play.
The German takes the initiative and gets behind the bar to start straightening things out. He starts with the beer, and before long, under the one open eye of the bar manager, the German’s ordering the bar staff around like he owns the joint, there’s cold beer running like water and pork rinds have been added to the snack menu.
The Englishman and the American mumble for a while over their fresh beers about how much better the bar could be if the beer were warm, the food were cold and windows were bricked up- or if it were filled with sports memorabilia, the smell of fat frying and waitresses with low cut tops. With a couple of pints under their belts and the smell of roasting pork in their nostrils, sensing an opportunity the Yank and the Pom approach one of the more frazzled looking Samoan bar tenders and start to talk about employment conditions.
The Samoan bar tender listens intently, before approaching the bar manager and starting to whinge about the change in pace since the German arrived, adding “…since when did anyone work on weekends anyway?” The bar manager, not used to 3 customers at once, let alone upset staff with opinions, decides it’s all getting a bit complicated and takes the rest of the day off. The German left in command, seizes the reins, ramps up the brewing out back and contemplates adding schnitzel to the menu.
The Yank then quietly convinces the remaining disgruntled barstaff to make the German an offer, one which gives the German free run of the public bar (and attraction of the free pool table)- if in return he’ll let them section off the back half of the bar to open a deep-fryer and cleavage themed family restaurant. The German readily agrees- glad to be rid of the trouble makers. While the bar-splitting agreement is being made, the Englishman takes a peek at his pocket watch, discovers it’s half past tea-time and ducks off to find a Twinings.
A couple of hours later the Englishman comes back looking slightly worse for wear and accompanied by a large Kiwi who seems intent on making up for showing up late, rapidly downing beers as though it’s 6 pm closing. As the Pom introduces the Kiwi to the German at the bar he mumbles “don’t mention the war” through the side of his moustache- at which the Kiwi smirks drunkenly and with wide eyed innocence asks the German about the war. The German immediately takes offence and tells them to get their own bloody beer- before hiding the key to the pool table, switching off the keg and nicking off to find somewhere that appreciates good beer, a little efficiency and dictatorial middle management.
The Englishman senses a shift in the mood now that the German’s gone. The bar-staff are looking frustrated after a long day and now contemplating how they’re going to manage the sauerkraut and schnitzel special at dinner service. Displaying the better part of valour, the Pom asks the Kiwi to keep an eye on the bar in exchange for a free beer and free pool- while he pops out for a bit.
The Kiwi agrees amiably, grabbing one of the last warming frothy pints from the bar and staggering toward the pool table. It’s a minute or two before he realises the pool table is now locked and the key is missing. No longer under German observation, the staff have just started to relax and enjoy themselves again, when the Kiwi starts asking about the pool table key and wondering loudly and belligerently about why the beer is no longer running freely from the taps. The bar staff aren’t ruffled and couldn’t be bothered about the beer or finding the key- thinking that free pool is one of the attractions that started this mess anyway, and they’d no doubt be much less busy and generally happier without it. The Kiwi drunk, upset and completely failing to appreciate the average build of the so far docile Samoans- loses his rag and swings a pool cue at the nearest slumbering doorman. …at which point the Kiwi senses rather than hears a very low, very deep hum which resonates through the floor and the timber of the bar- something like the buzzing of a very, very large wasps nest…and shortly thereafter is assisted bodily but non-violently from the bar.
Thus leaving half of the original bar occupied by the now independent Samoan bar staff snoozing softly without the encumbrance of customers; and the other half under control of the Yank and the Samoan bar tender, happily doling out deep fried deserts for breakfast, lunch and dinner to a “growing” population.
- from Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.
An Englishman, an American and a German walk into a Samoan Pub.
There are at least three Samoans behind the bar and another couple near the door- someone is snoring softly, but it’s difficult to tell who as no-one moves. The service is almost non existent, but it soon becomes clear there’s no beer and the alternatives all smell of coconut…but at least the pool table has been unlocked and it’s free to play.
The German takes the initiative and gets behind the bar to start straightening things out. He starts with the beer, and before long, under the one open eye of the bar manager, the German’s ordering the bar staff around like he owns the joint, there’s cold beer running like water and pork rinds have been added to the snack menu.
The Englishman and the American mumble for a while over their fresh beers about how much better the bar could be if the beer were warm, the food were cold and windows were bricked up- or if it were filled with sports memorabilia, the smell of fat frying and waitresses with low cut tops. With a couple of pints under their belts and the smell of roasting pork in their nostrils, sensing an opportunity the Yank and the Pom approach one of the more frazzled looking Samoan bar tenders and start to talk about employment conditions.
The Samoan bar tender listens intently, before approaching the bar manager and starting to whinge about the change in pace since the German arrived, adding “…since when did anyone work on weekends anyway?” The bar manager, not used to 3 customers at once, let alone upset staff with opinions, decides it’s all getting a bit complicated and takes the rest of the day off. The German left in command, seizes the reins, ramps up the brewing out back and contemplates adding schnitzel to the menu.
The Yank then quietly convinces the remaining disgruntled barstaff to make the German an offer, one which gives the German free run of the public bar (and attraction of the free pool table)- if in return he’ll let them section off the back half of the bar to open a deep-fryer and cleavage themed family restaurant. The German readily agrees- glad to be rid of the trouble makers. While the bar-splitting agreement is being made, the Englishman takes a peek at his pocket watch, discovers it’s half past tea-time and ducks off to find a Twinings.
A couple of hours later the Englishman comes back looking slightly worse for wear and accompanied by a large Kiwi who seems intent on making up for showing up late, rapidly downing beers as though it’s 6 pm closing. As the Pom introduces the Kiwi to the German at the bar he mumbles “don’t mention the war” through the side of his moustache- at which the Kiwi smirks drunkenly and with wide eyed innocence asks the German about the war. The German immediately takes offence and tells them to get their own bloody beer- before hiding the key to the pool table, switching off the keg and nicking off to find somewhere that appreciates good beer, a little efficiency and dictatorial middle management.
The Englishman senses a shift in the mood now that the German’s gone. The bar-staff are looking frustrated after a long day and now contemplating how they’re going to manage the sauerkraut and schnitzel special at dinner service. Displaying the better part of valour, the Pom asks the Kiwi to keep an eye on the bar in exchange for a free beer and free pool- while he pops out for a bit.
The Kiwi agrees amiably, grabbing one of the last warming frothy pints from the bar and staggering toward the pool table. It’s a minute or two before he realises the pool table is now locked and the key is missing. No longer under German observation, the staff have just started to relax and enjoy themselves again, when the Kiwi starts asking about the pool table key and wondering loudly and belligerently about why the beer is no longer running freely from the taps. The bar staff aren’t ruffled and couldn’t be bothered about the beer or finding the key- thinking that free pool is one of the attractions that started this mess anyway, and they’d no doubt be much less busy and generally happier without it. The Kiwi drunk, upset and completely failing to appreciate the average build of the so far docile Samoans- loses his rag and swings a pool cue at the nearest slumbering doorman. …at which point the Kiwi senses rather than hears a very low, very deep hum which resonates through the floor and the timber of the bar- something like the buzzing of a very, very large wasps nest…and shortly thereafter is assisted bodily but non-violently from the bar.
Thus leaving half of the original bar occupied by the now independent Samoan bar staff snoozing softly without the encumbrance of customers; and the other half under control of the Yank and the Samoan bar tender, happily doling out deep fried deserts for breakfast, lunch and dinner to a “growing” population.
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